Somewhere, Somehow
by kwiluvu
Summary: Things are changing for the teens of South Park, and the easiest way to explain everything is with three names: Marrianne Cartman, Damien Thorn and Rouge.


_**SOUTH PARK FANFIC.**_

"_**Somewhere, Somehow"**_

_**Chapter One: You Never Know What Something Was Until It Isn't Anymore.**_

"But Meeeehm! What if she gets hurt or scared? She's never been in public school."

"Poopsikins, she'll be fine. Now, do you want some Cheesy Poofs?"

"Mehm. Really? I just had an apple and some peanut butter half an hour ago." Over the years, Eric Cartman had definitely slimmed down, and though his whiny voice and disrespect for those around him had certainly diminished a bit, it was mostly just his physical attributes that had changed. Eric was now just as slim as all his friends, and had some muscle, not from working out but from helping his mother renovate the house in the last year.

"I'm sorry, honey, it's hard for me to remember that you're growing up and making good decisions now!"

"Somehow, I feel that was supposed to be insulting. Screw you Mehm, I'm goin' upstairs."

"Eric…" He felt his blood run cold as he heard his mother's soft voice.

"Yes, Mehm?"

"Face me when I'm talking to you!" Liane growled dangerously, and Cartman whipped around. "You know Mommy loves you very much right?" It terrified Cartman how easily his mother always ping-ponged between sickeningly sweet and dangerously deadly tones, and how she could use the first while acting the second.

"… Yes, Mehm." Cartman didn't flinch as his mother reached out and squeezed his shoulder, her fake nails digging into his skin through his t-shirt. He had learned a couple years ago that flinching only made it worse. With her other hand she reached up and slapped him, hard, across the face.

"Say that you will always love your mother, hon." Liane punctuated this statement by yanking on her son's hair viciously.

"I will always love you, Mehm." Cartman's voice was a very Craig-esque monotone.

"Say you'll never leave Mommy, poopsikins." Liane grabbed Eric's wrist in a vice-like grip, twisting it unnaturally.

"I'll never leave you, Mehm." Liane quickly let go of Cartman and pulled him into a gentle, motherly hug.

"Mommy loves you very much," Liane whispered in Eric's ear before shoving him back so he hit his head on the wall with a loud noise and walked away. Up the stairs he went, screeching at Mr. Kitty as he walked by.

Nothing unusual happened that day.

_Maybe sometimes we got it wrong-_

Kenny McCormick had once been part of South Park's resident poor family, at least until the previous year when his father had suddenly come into a lot of money from a great aunt who had passed away. With the money, Kenny's family had been able to move into a new, bigger house closer to all his friends', and Kenny's dad had started his own taxidermy business. People from all around Colorado (even further than North Park or Middle Park) and other states came to get their game stuffed and mounted by Kenny's dad. Their family now lived comfortably.

Throughout the years, much like Cartman, Kenny's outward appearance had changed. He had shot up, and was now the tallest out of his friends. He still wore his parka, but with the hood down, allowing his wild blonde hair to be free. It was always messy, with a few random pieces of hair sticking up here or there. A lot of girls found it sexy. Also much like Cartman, his personality hadn't changed. He was still a perv, still did whatever he could to get with a girl (or a guy, nowadays- he's taken to exploring his sexuality), still could diffuse or explode a situation with a few words. What else could you expect from a McCormick?

_-But it's alright;_

Then there's Kyle Broflovski. Resident Jew, resident ginger, resident pain-in-Cartman's-ass, and vice versa. Kyle had long ago ditched his ushanka and tamed his 'Jewfro'- his hair was now smooth and silky and somewhat long, with random curls sometimes popping up or framing his face. His personality, like the others' had stayed the same. Kyle was the shortest and tiniest of his friends at 5'6", which he resented. Next was Cartman, at 5'9", then Stan at 6' even, leaving Kenny, the tallest, at 6'3". The three inch increments were unnerving to some, but the boys hardly noticed anymore.

Kyle's personality hadn't changed, besides the (little) maturity that all boys gain as they get older. Except the fact that, like Kenny, he was exploring his sexuality. Although, unlike Kenny, he knew exactly what he liked; it sounds a lot like 'tits', but girls don't have one.

All in all, the Fearsome Foursome (as they were now referred to as by their parents, to which Cartman objected "That makes us sound like fags!" and Kyle replied with "You would know, fatass.") were as ridiculous and immature as ever. Few people were aware that was about to change.

_The more things seem to change-_

"Thanks, Stan. I had a really nice night." Wendy practically pounced on her boyfriend, shoving her tongue in his mouth and frenching him. Stan, used to this treatment from her, only sighed in his head and politely pulled away before kissing her on the forehead.

"Good night, Wendy," he told her, walking back to his car. Stan really hadn't changed in his seventeen years living in South Park. The only thing changing was how he felt about his long-time girlfriend, Wendy. Lately, she had become sex-crazed and to be honest, a total bitch. Stan, being the dolt he was, didn't realize this. All he knew was that there was something a little off about her nowadays, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Stan pondered this as he walked into his home, devoid of anyone else- Shelley was at anger management, his father was at work, and his mother was probably grocery shopping. He grinned as he realized that, as it was a Friday, he had no homework, which meant time with his beloved guitar. On this note, he rushed up the stairs to his room, kicking off his shoes somewhere in the hallway and dropping his bag unceremoniously at the top of the stairs. He nearly dove into his room, unzipping his case and handling his instrument carefully. Acoustic, a beautiful dark mahogany color, in top condition. Stan sat and situated himself, plucking a few chords before beginning to sing and strum along with the words.

"_Three little birds sat on my window_

_And they told me I don't need to worry_

_Summer came like cinnamon, so sweet_

_Little girls double-dutch on the concrete…"_

Stan sang and played for a couple hours, not knowing that the first song he sang that day would be one he referred back to in the many months to come.

_-The more they stay the same-_

"And where do you plan on going this year, now that you've finally freed up your busy schedule, Rouge?" The brunette that the question was directed towards smiled gently at the Asian reporter's question.

"Right back to my roots, Sarah. Actually, I'll be heading out next week, about a month before everyone gets out of school. I'm going to spend a whole year there! In the school, I mean. I'll go to public school instead of having a tutor." The two laughed like old friends, one in a floral print dress holding a microphone, the other in ripped jean shorts and a tattered red hoodie, both of which were clean, albeit worn out.

"Where is that, Rouge? For four long, accomplished years you've worked your way to the top of the entertainment business- modeling, performing your own songs, ballet, acting and theatre. At thirteen, you burst into the lives of everyone, providing bright splashes of color on everyone's dull lives, only known as 'Rouge'. You're a mystery! Would you mind answering a few personal questions?" The seventeen-year-old, simply known as Rouge, got a huge grin on her face.

"Ask away, but I'm sure some people won't like the answers." The Asian reporter faltered for only a moment before launching in.

"Where are you from?"

"I was born and grew up in a town called South Park, Colorado."

"Isn't that the town…"

"Where something super freaky and supernatural and dangerous and gory happens every other week? Yeah."

"What school did you go to?"

"I was homeschooled, so only my brother and mother knew who I was."

"So I take it you were very sheltered?"

"Of course not- my mother was, and probably still is, a crack whore, and I learned at a young age to make sure I had at least three cans of Mace laying around the house for when she brought a guy home." The reporter, Sarah, looked shocked and gasped. Rouge only inspected her nails and blew a strand of hair out of her face.

"O- oh! Well! Is that why you left South Park?" This was where Rouge flinched, but only the most trained eyes would have seen it.

"No. My mother always did what she could to protect me and my brother, but sometimes… Well, sometimes, you can't protect the people you love no matter how hard you try."

"Is it alright if I ask why you left South Park, then?"

"Ah… I think I'll have to plead the Fifth." Sarah chuckled at the girl's words.

"Of course. So, you've talked about your brother. Are you two close?" Rouge's lips stretched into a smile.

"Mhm. My brother is my best friend. I talk to him once every day for at least two hours."

"Oh, my! It must be difficult to fit that into your schedule. What's his name?"

"His name is Eric. Everyone calls him by his last name, though."

"Speaking of names, what IS your actual name, Rouge?"

"My name? It's awful boring. Well, the first is, anyways. Marrianne Cartman is my name."

_-Oh, don't you think it's strange?_


End file.
